


Fork in the Road

by fenellaevangela



Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/pseuds/fenellaevangela
Summary: Ives' bloody hand was in front of Boyd's face. God help him, he wanted to taste it.





	Fork in the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> So there's this scene about an hour into the movie where Boyd would've DEFINITELY licked Ives' hand if Ives hadn't pulled away, and, well . . .

“. . . And yet, you're resisting. Why?”

“Because it's wrong,” Boyd said, gasping the words like a drowning man. It was as much a reminder to himself as to Ives, because despite himself Boyd could feel the craving Ives spoke of keenly; it rose up in his chest like a floodwater, harsh and unyielding and threatening to overwhelm him. When Ives pressed him again it was impossible to hold back his rage – against what Ives had said, or against the truth in it - and he lashed out, but it wasn't _enough_ , it was barely a glancing wound - 

But it bled.

The scent of iron washed over him. Ives – Colqhoun – whoever the vile creature truly was - was still speaking but Boyd could hardly comprehend his words over the pounding in his ears as he endured a new wave of want. He knew he had to keep his wits about him but could feel his focus slipping nonetheless, drawn towards the fresh blood. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Ives' palm as a nauseating mix of revulsion and desire roiled in his stomach; it seemed impossible that he could want something so counter to basic decency and yet, was his mouth not watering at the smell, the shine of it? It seemed to Boyd the blood glowed unnatural-like in the moonlight, and he could imagine clearly the taste of it upon his tongue. The more he eats the more he wants, George had said. Never enough, Martha had said.

“Do you remember the energy, the potency of someone else coursing through your veins?” Ives teased. His hand moved tantalizingly closer, and the smell . . . the smell seemed _stronger_. “Someone brave - ”

Boyd couldn't stand to hear any more. He dropped his grip on his coat, snatched Ives' hand out of the air, and _licked_.

It surprised Boyd not at all that Ives laughed uproariously as Boyd lapped at the shallow wound and then sucked Ives' bloody finger into his mouth. This was what Ives had wanted all along, after all – for Boyd to give in to these wretched urges. He didn't try to pull away when Boyd tugged him in even closer and he didn't notice when Boyd raised the knife without looking up and he didn't see it coming when Boyd plunged the blade into his right side.

Boyd rose his gaze when the laughter sputtered into a shocked grunt, because he wanted to watch the defeat in Ives' eyes when he realized he'd lost. But that wasn't the sight that greeted him. Instead, the expression peering down at Boyd was . . . excitement. _Pleasure_. Goddamn him to _Hell_. Boyd dug the blade in deeper just to see if Ives was still human enough to wince at the pain, and though he was relieved to see that he was, an end to the other man's incessant needling was apparently too much to hope for.

“Why, do you mean to kill me, Captain Boyd?”

Boyd shoved Ives' bloody hand away from his face and grabbed his collar instead. “You should be dead already! You should have died a year ago, you should have died as a man and not - ” He couldn't bring himself to actually voice Ives' inhuman status. “If I have to be the one to do it, so be it.”

Ives nodded, as if their conversation were nothing more remarkable than polite acquaintances asking banal questions about friends and family. “Of course, of course. And will you eat me once the deed is done?”

Boyd's heart clenched at the suggestion and he knew, even if Ives couldn't see the desire plain on Boyd's face, he could certainly feel it in the twist of the knife as Boyd's hand tightened around it involuntarily.

Ives smirked his infuriating smirk. “Do you really think you can do it?” he asked, his voice dripping with false concern. “You couldn't even finish Private Reich, after all, and I did you the courtesy of killing him first. Could you bring yourself to eat a man you had killed by your own hand? Would your precious morality bear it?”

“Reich did not deserve to be consumed like a beast!” Boyd snapped. Once he would have said that no man deserved such a thing, yet now . . .

“Do you believe that I do?” Ives asked, an eerie echo of Boyd's own thoughts. His smile broadened at whatever response he gleaned from Boyd's expression and Boyd tried once again to wipe the perverse joy from Ives' face with a twist of the blade.

This time it didn't work.

In the time between one breath and the next Boyd suddenly found himself not the captor but the captive. He hadn't noticed when he lost the upper hand, if he'd truly had it at all to begin with, but he realized abruptly that even with a ten inch blade wedged between Ives' ribs he was no longer the one in control. Ives' right hand, which had been pressed hard against the wound in his side, slid up over the hilt of the knife and Boyd waited for him to pull the blade out, to turn it on him, to slice Boyd open like Boyd had threatened to do to him. And then Ives would eat him, of course.

Ives did pull the blade out. They both did, with Boyd's hand still on the weapon and Ives' fingers in an iron grip around them. But even as Boyd braced himself for a retaliation it became clear that one wasn't coming. At least, not in the manner Boyd had anticipated. Instead, Boyd was confronted with the alien sensation of Ives' moustache coarse against his face as the other man leaned across the short distance between them and pressed their mouths together. In an instant his tongue was in Boyd’s mouth and the bitter tang of blood was mixed with the flavour of warm, living flesh, almost too intense to bear. Boyd couldn't deny how much the taste effected him, but Ives' enthusiasm outstripped his own urges tenfold; while Boyd could feel his own body clamouring for more Ives was implacable, insatiable – he'd said, hadn't he, that eating human meat made him _virile_. Boyd wanted to gag at the thought, but he didn't. God help him, he didn't. He let his hand slip from Ives' collar to his neck and gave in to the kiss. 

When Ives pulled back, just far enough to leave room for a whisper, Boyd wasn't at all sure how long the embrace had lasted.

“You'll fight back,” Ives assured him. “You'll try to stop me, to stop yourself. But I'm under your skin, Captain Boyd. This won't end the way you want.”

Boyd felt his blood boil as Ives released him and then turned to go back inside, no sign of concern that his back was to Boyd as he did so. But he had left the knife in Boyd's hand, and Boyd didn't care what Ives thought he knew about him. He was going to _kill him_.

Later, he told himself that if Martha hadn't been there, he would have.


End file.
